In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom That transfigures you and me; As He died to make men holy, Let us die to make men free; While God is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! His truth is marching on.
I have seen Him in the watchfires Of a hundred circling camps They have builded Him an altar In the evening dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence By the dim and flaring lamps; His day is marching on.
Mine eyes have seen the glory Of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage Where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning Of His terrible swift sword; His truth is marching on.
He has sounded forth the trumpet That shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men Before His judgement seat; Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him; Be jubilant, my feet; Our God is marching on.